Measures of Lifespan
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Often they were fools. But, sometimes, they made the right wish. The sort she could take back their abilities for, and start the gear over.


**A/N:** Written for the Mega Prompts Challenge, picture prompts #055 – . ?id=171291761. Though the link probably won't show up here. It's an "Abstract donut, ring badge, blank button template with metal texture (chrome, silver, steel), realistic shadow and light background" according to the description. XD

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><p><strong>Measures of Lifespan<strong>

Beneath the little portable register, the little gear that measured the balance between demand and payment whirred. In the times she'd removed the top to check on it, it had appeared a silver liquid in a flat donut shape, moving too fast for the human eye.

But she was not human. She was the proprietor of a shop that existed on a separate plane. It might even be more accurate to call her one of God's heavenly creatures.

After all, even demons were God's heavenly creatures. But she wasn't one of those. She wasn't an angel either, who followed the word of God without question or hesitation. She was like humans in a way: with her own will and freedom. But humans were slaves of a sort as well, for all the power they lacked. That was why her shop had a steady stream of business. Humans were powerless but filled with desire. And one of those things they desired was power.

Power was a relatively easy thing to grant: the more power they sought, the more she took from them in return. It was just, sometimes, the thing they asked for was too much. Then that little gear would stop turning and drag on its spindle like nails on a chalkboard until she'd cancelled the transaction.

Usually, she wasn't able to salvage anything. Occasionally though, some people came in with some sense. Though they'd lose it initially, it'd come back to them by the end. That voice of reason, telling them they'd made a mistake.

Sometimes she couldn't help that. They'd realised it too late. Sometimes they made the right wish. The sort she could take back their abilities for, and start the gear over.

She remembered one of those stories very well.

**.**

There had been a boy. She had thought it strange, how he seemed to lack any ability he could call his own. Most humans had at least one of those, but not him. No talent at sports. Nor at school. Nor at social skills or anything else he'd tried. And he was desperately trying.

She met him formally on the day he tripped over the sign of her shop – or, rather, tripped over the sign she'd so craftily placed in his way. He came in of course, carrying the sign and meaning to apologize.

The sight of her shop stopped him short. Though not from surprise. There was nothing in her shop save the chair she sat on, changed on a whim to whatever suited her taste and comfort at the time, and the register. And her of course, but in reality both she and the register existed on a separate plane. The sort of plane that meant the laws of the human world did not apply. So her register could measure lifespans invisible to all of earth's creatures and she could grant abilities that were beyond their natural ability to grasp.

'Do you want an ability?' she asked, smiling coyly and looking in all manners inviting. Because, oddity or not, here was a boy with no abilities but clearly searching for one.

A few years off one's lifespan – it was well worth a price to pay. For humans. Even though they didn't realise they were shortening their already short lives.

Quality. That was what it was all about. If they couldn't live a life of quality, it didn't matter if it was ten or twenty or fifty years longer than the present. Except the reverse wasn't true. She'd seen _that_ too many times. Living, they'd yell to the heavens that it was the perfect time to die. Dying, they'd wish for more time.

But that wasn't her concern. She dealt with abilities, not wishes. It wasn't her job to listen to the whines of humans who couldn't realise their own foolishness. Her job was only to sell to the people who came searching for what she held.

So she sold that boy one ability and send him on his way, wondering if she'd see him again. She didn't think so. He looked like a reasonable kid. If he hadn't crossed paths with her he probably wouldn't have done anything foolish in growing up.

But he was back. And frustrating, demanding something even greater. 'She didn't even look at me,' he muttered – and then she understood. It was about a girl. Pity, that. Humans often did foolish things for love.

But that also meant more life for her to trade and so she did. She sold him more abilities, and took greater prices in return. Sometimes he showed shock at the amount – but soon he stopped doing that too. And he asked for something big.

She knew he'd be one of those who would die regretting at that point. Those ones always asked for something big, something other humans couldn't do. But she ran a shop. She did business and nothing more. So she checked the gear that measured his lifespan and gave him something that meant he still had a bit of time left.

After all, it wouldn't be a transaction if the buyer couldn't walk away with his purchase.

And then she got up and followed him. Because she wanted to see if he would regret or not, in the end.

**.**

She found him crying over a girl's body.

The proprietor could easily guess what had happened. The ability she had sold him had been inhuman strength. He'd used it in anger. Blinded, he'd killed her. Now he was just a broken boy crying over her body, all as the final turns in his gear of life turned.

He lifted his head and saw her. 'How do you like your abilities?' she asked demurely, when it looked as though he wouldn't say anything to her.

'Bring her back,' he said hoarsely. 'Take whatever you want, but give me ability to bring her back.'

Well, that was a surprise, she thought. People often asked to die when they messed up, when they realised they couldn't get a second chance. But they didn't try to fix their mistakes. Often, they'd forgot about those completely. It was if only grief and failure existed for them.

A different kind of grief. Not the sort that allowed for one to look out.

'I can do that,' she said finally. 'But it will cost you the remainder of your lifespan.'

That as a lie. Bringing someone back from the dead cost far more than that. But he would find out. Or he might, she thought. He also might not.

But he was nodding feverishly, agreeing.

'Very well,' she said, and rang up the register she'd brought with her. 'Thank you for your purchase.

**.**

The scene shifted. The both of them were in some black place. 'Aren't I dead?' the boy wondered aloud.

'You didn't have much life to give,' the proprietor replied. 'I've taken your abilities instead.'

'Abilities?' the boy repeated.

'I do deal with them.' She smiled, amused. 'All the abilities I gave you, with interest. They grow with people after all. And the ones you didn't know you had as well.'

She'd managed to find them. It had taken a bit of poking around, but she'd managed it. Abilities one girl had noticed – and who knew? Maybe he'd realised that, for all he hadn't realised his own abilities. Maybe that was why he loved her enough to die for her.

Guilt of the usual variety didn't do that. She knew. She'd seen quite a bit of it, in her trade. There was something to be said for love though. She had to admit that.

It would look like she was making a loss – except what did she have to do with lifespans, except sell them to Shinigami who thirsted for them like blood for more abilities? If she could get them back and better from the humans, so much the better.

'You'll be reborn again, with your remaining lifespan and without a single ability.'

'Back to how it was before…' he mused.

Not quite, but he'd find out the difference in due time. It wouldn't really change anything, seeing as he'd never realised those abilities to begin with. But he'd gotten along well enough with hard work anyway – before she'd come across him and he'd come across her shop.

She smiled, and gave him a push. 'Get going,' she said. 'When you reach the end of the black, you'll wake up.'

He gave her a bewildered look, but started walking.

'Thank you for your purchase!' she yelled after him, ripping out the receipt and tossing it into the sound of the gear, that little silver disk, spinning again.

She was sure that, if she opened up her register, she would see the disk a blur: so fast it would be unmoving to the human eye.

That meant he had a good long life to go.

'Good luck,' she said quietly, picking up her register and setting off the other way.

After all, she didn't sell luck.


End file.
